


with help or without

by beenana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Best Friends, Coming Out, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Menstruation, Ned Is An Angel, Trans Peter Parker, Unconditional Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenana/pseuds/beenana
Summary: Peter’s legs give out the moment the door closes behind them, leaving him in a panting heap on the dirty bathroom floor.  He bites down hard on his lip as he takes stock of the room, eyes scanning over every corner and beneath every stall.  When he’s positive that they’re alone, he lets himself break, clutching at his middle with desperate hands and moaning aloud as he curls into a pathetic little ball.“It’s so—bad,” he wheezes, looking up at his friend with eyes full of hot tears.  “I can’t—remember the last time it was this b-bad, Ned.”There are some things even superpowers can't fix.





	with help or without

**Author's Note:**

> soooo i had killer cramps last week and literally my first thought was "what if my main man peter had them too?" so here we are.
> 
> obviously this contains lots of discussion of menstruation, so if that's an uncomfortable subject for you, you'll probably want to give this a pass.
> 
> i don't own any of the characters in this fic and am not making any profit off this work.

Most of the time Peter has nothing but gratitude for his newfound superpowers.  But then that week, that dreaded six days of the month, arrives and he can’t help but wish that spider bite did a little bit more.

“What’s the point of super healing if my uterus still manages to tear itself to shreds?” Peter hisses as he leans heavily against Ned, feet dragging and tears welling in his eyes as his best friend helps him hobble to the closest bathroom.  The pain is excruciating – the first whispers of it had nearly gotten Peter’s finger chopped off, flinching as he tried to cut through a 2x4 with the table saw.  But luckily Ned was there – Ned was _always_ there – and he pulled Peter’s hands away just in time and whisked him into the hallway with the barest of explanations to their shop teacher.  Not that Mr. Duggan cared.  Or even noticed, really.

“It’s not actually tearing anything,” Ned says matter-of-factly, patting Peter’s shoulder with a sympathetic hand.  “It’s just cutting off the oxygen, which is why it hurts so bad.”

“Did you, a boy who’s never had a period in his life, just mansplain menstruation to _me_ , a boy who’s been dealing with them for two years?” Peter mutters crankily, sounding a whole lot more bothered than he actually is.  It’s sweet, in a way, that Ned would research that stuff for Peter’s sake.  He’s an amazing friend, but at the moment it’s hard for Peter to think of anything except the hellfire attacking his middle.

“Ugh, you’re right…that’s gross and I’m sorry,” Ned apologizes, hand giving Peter’s hip a repentant squeeze.  “I’ll shut up.  We’re almost to the bathroom anyways.”

They get there not a second too soon. 

Peter’s legs give out the moment the door closes behind them, leaving him in a panting heap on the dirty bathroom floor.  He bites down hard on his lip as he takes stock of the room, eyes scanning over every corner and beneath every stall.  When he’s positive that they’re alone, he lets himself break, clutching at his middle with desperate hands and moaning aloud as he curls into a pathetic little ball.

“It’s so— _bad_ ,” he wheezes, looking up at his friend with eyes full of hot tears.  “I can’t—remember the last time it was this b-bad, Ned.”

Worry written across his face, Ned drops to his knees beside Peter and nervously presses a hand to Peter’s feverish face.  “How can I help?” he whispers.  It’s hoarse and tight, like he’s on the edge of panic.  “Do you have medicine?  Do you need me to call May?”

If Peter was smart, he’d have Midol on him at all times like the girls in his classes, but he’s a fifteen-year-old _boy_ , dammit, and all he has is empty pockets.  When he opens his mouth to tell Ned as much, what comes out is, “I’m gonna puke.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Ned breathes, eyes wide, and then he’s scrambling to grab Peter’s armpits and pull him to his feet.  Peter’s pretty small, even after the stupid spider, but his limbs aren’t cooperating and Ned struggles under his dead weight.  By some miracle, they make it into the first stall before Peter succumbs to the nausea churning in his belly.

When he succumbs, he succumbs _hard_ , heaving into the toilet repeatedly until his stomach is empty and tears are leaking from the corners of his eyes.  “N-Ned,” he whimpers, not sure what he’s asking for beyond confirmation that his best friend is still with him, still watching and supporting and being there.

A warm hand presses against Peter’s back in answer, rubbing ever so slowly, and it’s enough.

When he’s finally done throwing up, the last few heaves nothing but saliva, Peter’s vision is spotty and dark around the edges.  It feels like his head is floating away and for one blessed moment, the pain tearing at his insides flees to the corners of his awareness, almost like it’s happening to someone else.  It’s so _good_ , it’s such a relief, until the bathroom floor comes rushing up to meet him. 

“ _Ow_ ,” he whines as his forehead slams against the tiles, all the pain rushing back to the present.  “Owwie.”

“Fuck, dude,” Ned cries, wedging his hand in between Peter’s bruised face and the floor, palm cradling the side of Peter’s head.  “Don’t pass out on me, man!  You’re gonna brain yourself and I failed my first aide class three times.”

“How do you fail a first aide class?” Peter asks the bathroom floor, trying not to think about how many germs are probably crawling all over his body.  “It’s just CPR and Band-Aids.”

“Can we focus, please?” Ned begs, his voice gone high-pitched with apprehension.  “Do you think you can sit up?”

Peter moans long and loud in answer, inching his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pressing against his abdomen, trying anything to ease the pain.  Ned must take it as an affirmation, because the next thing Peter knows, the whole world is spinning and he’s leaning back against the stall wall. 

“How’s that?” Ned says, lip caught nervously between his teeth.  “Better?”

“I need to pee,” Peter says, suddenly aware of how true it is.  It’s like the knives stabbing at his uterus decided to take a pit stop at his bladder as well.  “I’m gonna explode.”

When Peter tries to get to his feet, he sways and nearly falls, grabbing onto Ned’s shoulders and just barely managing to prevent taking a swan dive straight into the concrete.  Without a single complaint, Ned holds Peter steady as he pushes his pants down his thighs and settles onto the toilet, respectfully keeping his eyes shut tight.  Then, when he’s sure Peter’s okay, he backs out of the stall and holds the door shut for him.

He really is the best person Peter has ever known.

It’s as Peter’s peeing, hunched over on the toilet trying not to cry, that Ned speaks up from the other side of the flimsy door.  “I bet MJ has medicine,” he says softly, like it’s a secret.  “I could text her…you know she’d share if we asked.”

Peter’s blood turns to ice. 

“We’re not telling MJ!” he cries, the thought making him want to throw up again.  “It’s bad enough that _you_ know, I don’t need MJ knowing, too!”

The bathroom goes silent, but not the shocked kind of silent.  The _hurt_ kind of silent.

“Don’t be like that,” Ned says and his voice is so small it’s barely there.  Peter’s body floods with regret, guilt poisoning his bloodstream until the pain of it is undiscernible from the cramps wracking at his middle.  “You’re my best friend, okay?  And I’m not gonna pretend like I have any idea what it’s like, but I hope I’ve proven myself to be supportive.  To be the kind of friend you can trust.”

It’s all too much and before he even really knows what’s happening, Peter breaks into tears right there on the toilet.  “You have!” he cries, knuckling away the wetness that’s dripping from his eyes.  “You _so_ have, Ned!  But I’m _scared_ , alright?  Because not everyone is you.”

“MJ is,” Ned says simply, knocking at the stall door just slightly, waiting for Peter’s grunt of affirmation before he opens it.  He keeps his eyes closed again as he helps Peter to his feet and holds him steady as Peter fixes his clothes.  “I’m not pushing you or anything – that’s _so_ not my place – but you need help, Peter.  You need _medicine_.  And I can’t leave you alone because you can’t even fucking _sit_ without cracking your head open.”

When another stabbing pain attacks Peter’s belly, making him gasp out loud and sink to the floor, he knows Ned is right.  “Text her,” he grits out through clenched teeth, fears taking a backseat to the cloud that’s settling over his body.  He’s going to pass out in a minute.  “Just do it.”

So Ned does, fishing his phone out of his pocket with one hand while the other settles around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him in to lean heavily against Ned’s body.  Peter drops his head onto Ned’s shoulder, letting pitiful little whimpers escape from between his lips unbidden.  He can be a mess here.  It’s just Ned.

But three minutes later, it isn’t just Ned.  It’s MJ, too.  It’s MJ and her face is crumpled with concern, squatting down in front of Peter with a bottle of Midol in her outstretched hand.  “I wish you would’ve texted me sooner,” she whispers, opening the bottle and tapping two pills into her open palm when she realizes Peter can’t do it himself.  “This is gonna take a little bit to kick in.”

Peter takes them from her thankfully, swallowing them dry one by one.  “Thank you,” he rasps, eyelids heavy.  “Me and Ned will just hole up here until I’m ready to move, I think.”  Ned nods in agreement, making Peter crack a small smile despite it all.  “It’s free period anyway.”

“Maybe so, but I figured you could still do with this.”  MJ rummages around in her giant purse for a few seconds, mumbling a quiet _ah ha!_ when she finds what she’s looking for.  It’s a white plastic heat pack.  “It’s one of those ones you crack, you know?  It should last at least an hour.”

Peter is so grateful he can’t even move.  Or talk.  Or do anything but stare at her.  Luckily Ned has no such hang-ups and he takes the gift from MJ’s hands, cracking it to get it ready and settling it gently against Peter’s stomach.  “We owe you one,” Ned tells MJ seriously, reaching out to give her an appreciative slap on the shoulder.  “You’re the best.”

“Shut up,” MJ says but there’s no heat behind it this time.  “I’m always here to help a boy out.” 

With that, she settles back against the wall and she stays. 

She _stays_ and Peter lets her.


End file.
